


body language (baby don't talk)

by angrylizardjacket (ephemeralstar)



Series: I'm Gonna Have Myself A Real Good Time [2]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018) RPF
Genre: Cross-Posted on Tumblr, F/F, F/M, This is just smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-09-26 02:57:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17133734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeralstar/pseuds/angrylizardjacket
Summary: sometimes i also write smutIndividual chapter summaries at the top of each chapter, as well as chapter-specific warnings.





	1. teenage fantasy {Joe Mazzello}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon asked: Can you do a joe smut fic?? Where he’s rough but soft at the same time???

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: angrylizardjacket
> 
> I love this Y/N because she definitely responds to the questions ‘your boyfriend’s an actor? what’s he been in’ with ‘me.’ ANYWAYS smut. it might be a bit sappy, i genuinely don’t know if it’s good but i’m not going to apologise for it, it is what it is. have fun. would love some feedback.

“Do you remember when we were kids, we made that promise that we’d be best friends no matter what?” You said, voice gentle as you rested your head on Joe’s chest, the two of you half paying attention to something on the television.

“It was when I brought you along to Jurassic Park,” Joe agrees, an arm around you, rubbing small circles into your back, “you’d wandered off to find the T-Rex, and you  _found_ her, but she started malfunctioning and you started screaming.” And the moment you try and bury your embarrassed expression against his chest, he laughs, low and warm, and gives you a squeeze. “Yeah, I remember, why?”

“That still holds up, right?” Your voice is muffled where you’re still pressed against his chest, and he’s quick to answer.

“Yeah, it’s a promise, babe.” When he speaks, you look up at him and see him grinning; he’s still looking at the TV, but you can tell he’s not paying attention to it.

“Well when I was sixteen I also promised I’d never date an actor-” You half smile, and he finally looks down at you, raising his free hand to his chest.

“That really broke my heart, you know.” He interjected, and you gave him a light shove.

“ _Exactly_ , I broke that promise.” And his expression softens from amused to gently concerned.

“Why are you bringing this up now? What’s got you worried?” He asked, and you can’t articulate your thoughts. “You’re my best friend, my girlfriend, and I’ve known you since grade school; babe,” he laughs a little, wearing a fond smile, “at this point I’m pretty sure you’re stuck with me.”

“But when we made that promise, we were kids, we didn’t know what it meant, we didn’t have to be anything.” Voice soft, you rest your head on his chest again, eyes closed as the fear that had been overwhelming you for months finally came to a head. “But we’re, we’re grownups and you’re  _someone_ , Joe. You’re in  _Bohemian Rhapsody_ , and I’m-”

“Stop it.” Joe’s voice is firm, and your voice dies in your throat. “Whether or not I’m in a movie or whatever, that doesn’t change anything about us.” His voice is unwavering, and his sincerity calms something in your chest; he truly believes in what he’s saying. 

“You mean that?” You murmur, and he taps your hip gently. Moving automatically, you sit up looking at him with only the barest hint of uncertainty as he beckons you towards his lap, letting you straddle him.

“Of course I mean that.” It’s so soft when he says it, his hands cupping your jaw as he pulled you in for a kiss. He holds you like you’re made of porcelain, and when you lean back, his fingers ghost, feather-light down your arms to settle at your hips. The way he looks at you, reverential, like you hang stars in the sky, his eyes wide and bright, the barest hint of a smile on his lips, it’s as if he’s trying to commit this image to memory. It’s like he’s never seen anything more beautiful that you, in his lap, wearing a shirt that was far too big for you, and a pair of lacy knickers, and you duck your gaze, bringing your hand up to scratch the back of your neck. “There’s no-one I’d rather be with, I promise.” 

“Joe-” you murmur his name soft as he takes your chin and guides you back to face him, pulling you in where you’re smiling bashfully.

“Baby, I promise.” He says, his lips inches from yours, and you grin as you close the gap between you two, kissing him fear disappointing in a way you hadn’t realised it would the moment he has a hand on your ass, squeezing firmly, almost like a reassurance.

“Did high school you ever imagine we’d end up here?” You half laughed as Joe peppers kisses across your collar, which then turned into a faint gasp as he ran his fingernails up your side beneath your shirt with the hand that wasn’t on your ass.

“I think high school me had this  _exact_ fantasy.” He admitted, and as you laughed, his hands quickly come up to pull off your shirt over your head and he nodded, shooting for serious as he made a noise of agreement. “Actually, this is much more accurate.” And you’re still giggling even as he took one of your nipples in his mouth, teeth grazing against the sensitive flesh. He kisses his way up your chest, deliberate, lips warm against your skin, and then there’s that smile again, the one you’ve known for years, the one you’ve loved for years, and suddenly you feel secure.

You’ve seen him on screen a million times, falling in love and kissing what felt like a million different people who weren’t you, but in moments like this, where he’s got his hands on your back, guiding you to lay down on the soft bed.

“What about you? Did high school  _you_ ever consider  _this_?” And he punctuated it by pulling his shirt off over his head, and you reached up, regarding him with an affectionate smile, tugging him into a messy and passionate kiss as an answer. He had one hand on your cheek, the other moving lower, dipping beneath the waistband of your panties. He swallows your gasp as he slides one finger into you easily.

“I-” when he stars to kiss down the column of your throat, you try and answer, but he chooses that moment to start moving gently within you, curling and uncurling his fingers at an agonisingly slow pace.

“Is that right?” He sounds  _so_ innocent but you can feel his smirk against your shoulder.

“That summer, we were- we were sixteen-” you stutter your way through your sentence as his thumb begins to gently rub at your clit. He presses a kiss to your sternum, before looking up at you expectantly; you want to laugh at his innocent act, but the moment you make eye contact, he presses deliberately against both your clit and your g-spot, and your head drops back to the mattress, letting out a low, heavy chuckle, more akin to a moan. Almost all words leave you as your reach down to hold his hand in place, hips rolling in time with the way his fingers moved inside of you. “ _There, right there_.” You whimpered, letting go when he kept the rhythm, letting your hands fist in the sheets of the bed.

“ _Fuck that’s hot_.” You hear him murmur under his breath, and when you look at him, he slows down, and you prop yourself up on your elbows to give him an amused look, heart still beating erratically as he continues to finger you at a steady rhythm. He looks a little surprised that the words had even left his mouth. “What? You are.” He smirked, and you couldn’t help but be endeared by his earnest honesty.

“Take off your pants, you dork.” You grinned, biting your lip and pressing your thighs together as he removed his hand from your panties, leaving you feeling a little empty.

“So you were saying; when we were sixteen you wanted to fuck me?” He asked, tone light as he pulled off his sweat pants, and you chuckled, shifting to sit against the headboard, lazy grin on your face as your own fingers dipped into your panties.

“Pretty much.” You admit easily, and he snorts out a laugh. “I remember, it was like Mid-July, I came over for dinner and you were washing your mom’s car, just wearing board shorts,” and you trailed off, making a low hum of approval at the memory, gasping sharply as you pinched at your clit. Finally, Joe looks at you, now in his boxers, and he goes completely still, watching your hand work.

“Babe, I was  _so_ pasty.” He moves automatically, hands on your hips pulling the fabric down your legs, leaving you exposed as you opened your legs for him.

“You’re still pasty.” You smirk as you watch him kiss his way up your inner thigh, grip tight on your thigh like he knows you like. He takes your clit in his mouth, sucking hard, making you arch into him, cocky amusement evaporating with a whimper. It only takes a moment, his tongue flicking across the bud, before he’s moving further up, pressing kisses to your stomach, biting gently at the swell of your breasts with an almost awed laugh when you moan at the sensation. 

“Taking your time there?” You ask, gently lifting his chin when he presses his lips to your chest, and he grins, a little devilish as if happy to be caught in the act.

“Sorry, I was just remembering…” and he’s wearing this shit-eating grin as he sits back, reaching into the bedside drawer, pulling out a condom and opening it easily, “about five minutes ago my girlfriend was worried I’d leave her for my fancy, Post- _Bohemian Rhapsody_  lifestyle.” He slides off his own underwear, and you suppress a fond smile. “I’m just trying to prove that that’s not going to happen.” He pulls you by the hips towards him once the condom is secure, and he pauses for a moment, the tip of his cock at your entrance.

“Well don’t keep me waiting.” Voice low and seductive, you moan, long and breathy as he sinks slowly into you.

“Never, baby.” He murmurs into your ear before capturing your lips in a kiss. He starts so slow, so deliberate, and your move your hips to match his pace, breath catching when your hips meet his and you can feel him hit deep inside of you. It’s like a switch has been flipped, the teasing banter leaving your mind as all you can think about is his cock inside of you, his hand on your thigh pulling your leg up, closer to him.

Your nails dig into his back, you can feel him press a groan into your neck. You reach down between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, and your head falls back as you play with your clit as Joe fucked you.

“ _God_ , baby you feel so good.” He presses a kiss to your throat, his grip on your thigh tightening.

“ _So good_.: You agree, as if the words were being pulled from you. He slows down for a moment, moving back to look you in the eyes. Seeing you looking up at him through your lashes, pupils blown wide, and lips swollen from where you’d been biting them to keep yourself quiet, he can’t help but snap his hips to meet yours, if only to hear your gasp, watch your eyes flutter closed for a moment.

“I’m all yours, baby, I promise.” And you reach up with your free hand to pull him in to a kiss, moaning and sloppy against his lips, rolling your hip lazily, enjoying the new pace.

“All mine.” And there’s a self-assuredness in your voice, with him deep inside of you, his hands on your thigh, that hits him right in the chest. If you’d asked him right now, he’d walk through hell for you without hesitation. “I love you.” And he’s still a little dazed. 

“I love you too.” He responds, and he feels your hands on his hips, sees the way you’re biting your lips, and his pulse gets even more erratic, if possible. Moving with him, the two of you role until he’s laying on the mattress, and you’re straddling him. It only takes you a moment to reposition him before you’re sliding down onto his cock, taking a moment to just enjoy the feeling of fullness, before you start grinding against him.

“ _Fuck_.” He breathes, hands steady on your hips, loosing himself in the sensations. And then you’re leaning over him, lips against his, kissing him hard, as you rode him, moving down and sucking a hickey into his chest, as one of his hands comes up to pinch at your nipples. “ _Fuck, I love you, baby_.” He moans, and you let out a breathy laugh.

“I love you too,  _God_ , I love you so fucking much.” And your eyes flutter closed as he begins rubbing at your clit. You’re both so close as you grind against him, his hips rolling against yours, cock hitting inside of you at  _just the right angle_ as you leaned back a little, and the words falling from your lips are incomprehensible, but all you can hear is his moans, and praises as he tells you how good it feels to be inside of you.

You come with a high moan, leaning forward and pressing your forehead to his, hips still rolling as he comes a few moments later, pressing desperate kisses to your lips, holding your hips steady, flush against him as he buries himself deep inside of you. The world stands still for just a moment, your pussy still twitching with the aftershocks of your orgasm, and you let out a shaky laugh.

“So is that how the fantasy usually turned out?” You asked, catching your breath for a moment before you climb off of him, flopping onto the bed beside him. Joe snorts out a laugh, swinging his legs over the side of the bed to head to the bathroom and dispose of the condom.

“I never really got that far.” He admitted, and you let yourself relax and chuckle into the easy silence of the room.

“I think I could do another thing high school you would have fantasized about.” You call out, and when he returns, there’s an amused look on his face, his eyebrow raised with interest. You beckon him over and he sits on the bed against the headboard at your insistence. You take his now soft cock in your hand, gently pumping it a few times.

“You’re gonna have to give me a few minutes before round two.” He insisted, and you smiled softly at him, hand still gentle on his dick.

“I know, I just wanna make you feel good.” And it’s so sweet and honest that Joe feels like his heart’s going to melt as he takes your face in his hands and plants a kiss on your lips.

“You do, baby.” He murmurs, and the two of you are quiet for a moment, resting your foreheads together, his hands cupping your cheeks, your hand still working his dick where it was already half hard.

“I just wanna,” you try to explain, though he can hear the wicked smile in your words without even opening his eyes, “make you feel as good as I do when you tell me you love me while you’re so fucking deep in me.” And Joe lets out a low groan, his cock twitching in your hand.

“You’re far too hot for your own good.”


	2. just alright? {Roger Taylor}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon asked: hello ur one of the best the queen fandom has to offer so pls pls pls do a rlly smutty fic with Ben could it be set somewhere rlly rlly public and the other BhoRhap boys are just like a room away so they have to be quiet (But they definitely fail) and could you make it where Ben is rlly dominant and is giving the reader nicknames and degrading the reader (in a kinky way) and then reader squirts then @ the end the other BhoRhap boys are like 😏😏😏 much love 💖
> 
> Anon asked: How about a Roger Taylor imagine with daddy!kink? 
> 
> Anon asked: hi hi can you make roger taylor thigh riding? thankq love ur writing mwah!
> 
> Anon asked: idk if you’re already writing your roger smut fic but I saw thigh riding and !!!!!!!!! it would be so hot if the thigh riding took place ON STAGE with Roger sat at his kit empty venue but VERY public

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: angrylizardjacket
> 
> This might not be exactly what the first anon asked for, but the other three should hopefully be happy with this haha. Maybe I’ll make a part 2 who knows? SO THIS IS A SMUT WARNING; SMUT BELOW THE CUT. LIGHT DEGREDATION, DADDY KINK, TEASING, if that’s not your cup of tea, feel free to skip this one. to those who have stayed, have fun. Female genitals for reader.

In the wake of their first album’s release, Queen still has pubs booked for weeks to come, and you, loyal to a fault, are at every single one. A big part of it was that you genuinely enjoyed their music. An even bigger part of it was Roger. The two of you had been together for a few months, you’d been there when he’d recorded the album, and to see it through to fruition was almost mesmerising. 

You’d been in the crowd tonight, Saturday, on the edge of town. It was the last pub they’d booked before being given a manager, a special occasion, and you’d dressed up for the occasion, or rather, dressed down, opting for something tight and short with your shirt low-cut.

You shine on the dance floor, indulging yourself in the music amid the other writhing bodies, glowing with enthusiasm and effort, someone’s hands on your hips, hands you don’t recognise holding yours, twirling you. When you feel someone you don’t know grinding against you as a girl is dancing close to you, her hand draped on your shoulder, you find yourself looking up to the band, and your suspicions are rewarded. Roger, intense as always when playing music, has eyes only for you, or rather, the way you’re moving, with other people dancing with their hands all over you. His gaze finally reaches yours and you grin wickedly at him, dancing like it’s a dare, knowing  _exactly_ what you were doing. You can see the way he exhales a laugh as he looks away, but you know your stunt would come back to haunt you, and you preferred sooner rather than later.

“You enjoy tonight’s show, love?” Roger joins you in the smokers’ area out the back of the bar where you’ve perched yourself on a bar stool by a high table. The other band members are hanging around the various areas of the bar, talking to fans, and honestly giving you two some space; they knew how Roger got after a particularly good show, and tonight’s was  _spectacular._

His hands are on your thighs without hesitation, warm, gliding up towards the hem of your skirt. Already you feel yourself growing excited, having forgone panties for the night, not that he knew that. Yet.

“It was alright.” Conceding with mock indifference, you make a move to look over his shoulder, spotting Freddie and Brian moving to head back inside, no doubt to pack up their gear for the night.

“ _Alright?”_ Voice dipping to an amused purr, his hands gently move your legs apart, allowing him to step into your space, your skirt riding up your thighs, just a little. “ _Alright?”_ His grin grows wide as your attention slides back to him, brushing a piece of hair from his face where it’s he’s still a little shiny with sweat from the sheer exertion of drumming.

“It was okay.” You murmured, leaning forward to kiss him with a mischievous little smile, but he catches your chin as your lips hover, barely an inch from his.

“Don’t lie to me, baby.” And you can feel his grip tighten where his hand is still on your thigh. When he leans in, there’s a sharpness to the kiss, and you feel your heart rate pick up. Rough and insistent though it may be, the kiss is short-lived. “And don’t think you’ve gotten away with what you did tonight.” With his lips by your ear you can hear the smile in his words, but feel yourself flush as he nips gently at your jaw, just below your ear.

Stepping back, he pulls you gently from your seat, leading you inside to wait while the band packed up, which you did happily enough, already feeling yourself grow warm at the thought of what was to come.

“You enjoy the show?” Brian asks, chipper, seeing you sitting at the end of the bar as he moves his guitar stand out of the walkway. The bar has shut down at this end, they’ve already put the barriers up that keep the patrons away, have stopped serving drinks in sight of the band’s pack up over half an hour ago, so it’s just you and the band at the end of the bar.

“Yep, loved it!” Beaming back, you ignore the noise of disbelief Roger makes in the back of his throat at the gall you posses; he knows you’re doing it to spite him, just a little.

“Oh good.” And Brian smiles at you like he can’t see Roger’s amused eye roll. Roger himself is moving the drums back as much as he can; they’ve all got rooms in the hotel above the bar, and they’ve been assured their equipment will be safe, so they’re doing a full pack up the following morning, when it’s not almost midnight and they’re hopefully not drunk or hung over. He’s still moving his kit when the rest have finished, guitar and bass both in their cases leaning against the wall, microphone in it’s box.

“Do you need some help?” There’s an innocence in your voice that you can see has Roger biting back a laugh, and the others have already started to drift away, moving back to the main area of the bar, or upstairs to bed. 

“Not from you, love.” His voice is firm, and you let yourself indulge in the sight of him working, one hand propping himself against the wall as he was checking all of the equipment, spare drumsticks and such, was secure. Satisfied that it was, he takes the moment to breathe, turning and sitting on his stool before finally setting his sights on you. With one foot, he shifts his cymbal to the side, clearing a path as he points at you, following it with an unmistakable ‘ _come here’_ gesture.

“I can be a great help.” You assured him, still playing the faux-sweet part, even as you situate yourself in his lap, one leg either side of his hips.

“Oh really?” He asks, smile unconvinced as he played along, his arms wrapped around you, fingers linked against the small of your back. In the now empty bar, you roll your hips against his, making a show of pretending to adjust your position in his lap. To his credit, he doesn’t break, just smiles wider. “I think you’re great at being a brat.” 

“A brat-?” But he captures your lips in a kiss, cutting off your playful indignance with one hand moving down to running his fingers along your inner thigh in a gentle rhythm. The sensitive skin he’s ghosting his fingers over has you growing damp, kissing him back to try and push down the need you could feel gathering in your core.

“A brat who  _lies_.” He pulls back, punctuating the statement by grabbing your ass, though you let out a small whine as he’s stopped touching your thigh, and you move on instinct, hips rolling again. Your skirt rides up your thigh once more.

“Sorry, Roger.” You murmur, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his cheek, reverential, one hand in his hair, the other gentle against his other cheek. He gives you a sharp look, though you can see his thinly veiled amusement. With a cheeky grin of your own, your lips move to his cheekbone, voice a low purr, “Sorry,  _daddy_.” 

With you so close, the balance is even enough that he can move the hand left on the small of your back down to also grasp at your ass, squeezing gently, prompting to move your hips against his.

“A brat I could deal with.” He tries to keep up the faux serious ruse even as his hands encourage the slow rhythm at which you were grinding on him. It wasn’t the easiest task in the world, the leather pants he wore left very little to the imagination, and you could feel him already half hard against your thigh. “But-  _fuck, baby,”_ you chose that moment to lean into the grind, and he leans forward to hide his flush against your shoulder, “you danced like a slut out there.” He finishes with a tender kiss to your collar, his hands moving to your hips, shifting you so you could straddle one of his thighs.

When he raises his head to look you in the eye, you’ve got your hands on his shoulders, and his hands on your hips are firm, bringing you to a halt, as if demanding an answer.

“Only for you.” You answer, moving your hips despite his firm grip on them, the new position causing your skirt to ride up further. As soon as your bare pussy makes contact with his pants, you feel your breath catch in your throat, hips stilling.

“Forgotten something, have we?” His smile grows wide, enjoying the way you’d broken character, the pure, unfiltered surprise and delight in your eyes, pupils blown wide, making his heart rate pickup. In the humid air of the bar, knowing the band had performed to a full house just over an hour ago, it sends a tantalising shiver down your spine.

“Hey, hey, hey,” voice gentle, he starts to move his leg beneath you, as encouragement, and your instinct takes over as you begin rocking your hips against his thigh. One hand still on your hip, guiding, he reaches up to gently pull you in to a kiss; “ _good girl_.” It’s barely a whisper against your lips, but when he says it, combined with the feel of the leather and his straining against your inner thigh, you hear yourself moan.

“You danced like a slut for me,” he’s got both hands steady on your hips as your pick up your pace, clit grazing against the fabric with each movement. Heart beating against your ribs, you feel his warm breath on your neck as he murmurs encouragements to you, “you dressed like a skank for me,” and as if to prove his point, he pushes your skirt a little higher up your waist, and you let out a breathy laugh at the whole situation, “now can you come for me, baby?” 

At his request, your breath is coming out in desperate little whines, stuttering whimpers of pleasure as you try to keep yourself quiet, pleasure building within you, so close to exploding. Thigh slick as you continue to ride it, he shifts back, not stopping the motion, just moving to look you in the eyes.

“Can you do that for me?” He asked, and the firm finality in his voice, coupled with the way he shifts his leg to hit your clit at a new angle, has you stuttering yeses, crashing your lips to his, still murmuring barely coherent affirmations against him.

Grinding against him in low, long strokes, you feel it the moment your reach the tipping point, and shift just a little higher, clit grazing against a section of dry leather, sending you over the edge.

“Oh,  _oh God, d-daddy.”_ Your breathy moans in his ears only serve to have him tighten his grip on your hips, holding you steady as your legs start to shake as the orgasm crashes through you.

“ _Good girl.”_ He purrs, trying not to groan as your hips keep moving gently, riding it out against him. It takes a moment for you to catch your breath as your senses return to you, and he’s running his nails along your scalp. 

Pulling back, he goes to ask how you’re feeling, something akin to a smug smile on his face, but you kiss him, holding his face, actually surprising him. The kiss is more tender than before, it’s a thanks, it’s a ‘ _god you’re good’,_ it’s everything you’re lost for words about.

“You played  _incredibly_ tonight.” You tell him with sincerity as you break away, stepping back on shaky legs. He’s a little dazed, but smiles at you where you’re taking napkins from the still thankfully empty bar to clean him up. Shimmying your skirt back into position, you drop to your knees in front of him, wiping up the mess you’d made against his thigh. “I think that deserves a reward.” 

He catches your hand as it strays to brush teasingly along the length of his cock beneath his pants. Looking up at him, he’s smiling, leaning down to kiss you again.

“What do we say about teasing?” He asks, and you grin at him, standing up and pulling him to his feet.

“That I’m very good at it.” With a wink, you traipsed through the empty bar, depositing the napkins in the bin on the way to the hotel foyer.

“Oh thank god,” the two of you hear John’s voice as you walk right past him without seeing him as you make a beeline for the elevators. When you come to a stop, John’s halfway through the door to the bar, which says closed, but also definitely has only semi-opaque windows, “I left my wallet in there.” He explains, adding. “Keep it down if you can this time, I’m in the room next to yours and my earplugs only work so well.” 

“Wouldn’t count on it.” You wave brightly at him, turning promptly and continuing on track as you hear Roger burst out laughing, hand still in yours as you lead him along.


	3. tug. {Roger Taylor}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by everyone who wanted a Roger as Rogerina fic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: angrylizardjacket
> 
> Not exactly Rogerina smut, but it is Roger smut and he’s wearing the outfit. Seriously, this is just smut with a bit of setup because I don’t know how to do things by halves, but also it might just not be good, I don’t write smut. SERIOUSLY NSFW; smut below the cut (sorry folks on mobile) Female genitals for reader, but no gendered pronouns.

“So,” Roger Taylor, wearing a wig-cap and half a face of makeup, waited until you were halfway through his eyeliner to finally speak to you. He’s trying to restrain a smirk, you can see it in the twitch of his lips, “what are you doing later?” 

“Probably helping you take all your makeup off.” Tone clinical, you pause for a moment before moving to his next eye. 

“Sounds like fun.” He’s already given up on trying not to smirk, and squinting the eye you’d just finished, he watches for your reaction.

“If you count passing out makeup wipes fun.” You offered, and he laughed quietly, closing his eye again and letting you finish your job. He sits patiently as you curl his lashes and draw on eyebrows, sat worse than Freddie when you put liner on his waterline, but overall it wasn’t too painful of an experience for both of you. After turning away to find a nude lipstick just a shade or two darker than his actual lips, you turn back to see him watching you, eyes bright against the dark makeup, shining with amusement as he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

“It’s not done yet.” You mused, leaning forward and gently holding his chin as you applied the lipstick. “Could you close your eyes please?” You asked, quiet enough that only he could hear you, and you actually had to pull the lipstick away when his lips stretched into a smile.

“Still got more to do there? I think they’re looking pretty good.” He mused, and his gaze flicked from your face, to his own reflection in the mirror over your shoulder.

“No, but your gaze is unnerving.” You murmured, and he actually had to lean out of your grip to laugh at that, but moved back obligingly after the moment had passed, pursing his lips again and closing his eyes. After finishing, and getting him to blot his lipstick, you set it all and stepped back to look at your handiwork.

He had the face for it, which was the most infuriating part, he was rather pretty to begin with, but the eyeliner, the lipstick, clenching your jaw, you tried to keep your thoughts professional. After a moment he could feel that you’d moved away from working on him, and he opened his eyes, examining the final product in the mirror. He’s got his singlet tucked in to the skirt and tights already, high waisted, coming to rest halfway down his thigh, though the hem had flipped up as he had moved.

“You’ve really…” When he looks to you, you’re about a second too late in righting your gaze from where you’d been distracted the skirt had ridden up just a little. Smile widening, he smooths out the skirt while making direct eye contact with you, as if daring you to watch, though neither of you break. “You’ve really done a good job; can see my cheekbones from space.” Laughing, he looked back at his reflection, admiring himself just a little longer.

“Put on a shirt, Mister Taylor, they’re waiting for you in hair.” Averting your gaze with a blush, you pulled the coat hanger with his white blouse from the costume rack beside you, offering it to him. 

“It’s Rogerina.” He informed you, actually sounding serious about the ridiculous phrase. “I’m Rogerina, Freddie’s Melina -” He’s cut short by one of the hair assistants calling for him, but even so he can see your smile. Once he had the final button done up, he moved past you, quickly giving your a hip a squeeze as he moved through your space. Covering your surprised squeak, you watch his retreating form with an incredulous expression. When he looks back at you, he winks,  _the cheeky bastard_.

The shoot ends for the day and you’re pretty sure you’re gonna have to make good on your promise to help Roger take his makeup off… not that you were complaining. He’d emerged from where the hair team had set up, still wearing the schoolgirl outfit, but without the wig. His natural hair had curled a bit at the edges of his face, and for some reason, still wearing the bows. 

Wearing a smug smile, he slouched into the makeup chair, legs spread and comfortable as he looked up at you expectantly.

“‘s not very ladylike.” You told him, holding out a packet of makeup wipes. Slowly, grinning like a cat who got the cream, he sat straight-backed in the chair, his knees together, smoothing out his skirt with one hand and trying to wipe away his makeup with the other. You think he might have been shooting for teasing or sexy, but it wasn’t very successful. “You look like you’ve got a black eye.” You mused, biting back a grin as you moved in to take the wipe from him. Looking up at you, he sees the way you hesitate, looking to your own stool, and then back at him. 

Taking a chance, you stepped your legs over his, straddling his lap as you gently wiped the makeup from around his eyes. He held your hips securely, smirking all the while. “See, being ladylike helps sometimes.” Voice quiet enough that only he could hear, you reach back at tap at where he’s kept his knees. 

Humming thoughtfully, he closes his eyes when you start on getting rid of the cut crease you had managed earlier. Without warning, he slowly started spreading his legs, which only had your body moving closer to his. He kept his hands steady on your hips, thumbs edging under your shirt to rub small circles against the skin of your hips.

You tried to focus on your work, gently moving down to take his foundation from his cheeks, but his hands are moving to your ass, to pull you closer, and you can feel the material of his skirt riding up and-

The words ‘ _easy access’_ are the last to flash through your mind before it shuts down. 

“Everything okay?” He asks, smiling gently. Swallowing thickly, you move to get off of him, throwing the makeup wipe in the bin and trying to let your pulse calm down, silently thanking yourself for getting most of the makeup cleared off before your mind took a nose dive into the gutter. Looking at him, you see him righting his skirt, legs suddenly crossed one over the other.

“I- we’re not- um, the light’s better in the bathroom.” You know you’re bright red, but his smile is all teeth and he stands without prompting, making a beeline for the door. Following him, you find yourself in a private bathroom one sound stage over. He’s waiting for you, leaning against the sink with his arms crossed and lips pursed, the last hints of eyeliner still defining his eyes, looking bitchy and gorgeous in the school uniform they’d put him in. 

“That’s- it’s a costume.” You suddenly panic, and Roger raises his eyebrows, already unbuttoning the buttons, but you waved your hands at him. “How much-? Is it an expensive costume?” You asked, blushing bright red as he raised his eyebrows at you, after a beat, he looks at himself in the mirror, and he’s grinning again.

“They’ve got spares.” He assured, stepping forward and into your space, walking you back until your back hit the door and his lips were on yours. He’s got one hand on your hip, the other locking the door, and you finally let yourself enjoy the moment. 

Moving your hands up, you pluck the bows from his hair with nimble fingers, tossing them to the floor in favour of scraping your nails against his scalp. He’s  so close to you, pressing you against the door, you can feel him already half-hard against your thigh as his mouth travelled down to press kisses to the column of your throat. Teeth grazing gently against your jugular, you can feel him smile against your throat as you gasp softly, the sensation causing a shudder to run through you, an ache building in your centre. 

You hadn’t realised until you heard a zipper being undone, but he’s moved back to give himself room to nimbly undo your fly. His head moves from where he’s been doing a pretty tremendous job of giving you a hickey, up to kiss you, his free free hand coming up to hold your cheek as his other hand moves somehow effortlessly beneath the waistband of your panties. You’re wearing skinny jeans, and you already pretty sure it won’t be easy-  _oh_ , he’s already got one digit gently moving into you, though he doesn’t have a good enough angle to stroke your clit, like he seems to be trying to do. After a moment, his hand stills in your pants and you’re both laughing into the kiss.

“Do you just want me to take them off?” You ask, and he nods, leaning in for another kiss, curling his finger inside of you once more, grinning as you whimper against his mouth. Stepping back, he removes his hand from your pants, watching you through his lashes as you pull off your shoes and then jeans.

“Should have worn a skirt.” He muses, and when you look up at him, he’s got his hip cocked, his cock beneath the skirt hard enough to shift the material so that it was noticeable, sucking on the finger that had just been inside you. The sight had you speechless, as did the way he was looking at you, pupils blown wide, like you in your panties and work shirt was the hottest thing in the world. 

You step towards him, as if mesmerised by the sight, and he smiles, stepping forward to meet you, his hands on his hips as he guided you to the bench beside the sink.

“There are cute.” He’s toying with the elastic of your panties, which  _was_ an especially cute pair that you picked out when you heard you would be working with Queen, as a good luck charm…  _ha_. He slides the underwear down your thighs, sinking to his knees at the same time.

Looking expectantly up at you, he waits for you to hop up on the edge of the sink, wearing a grin as your legs open automatically for him. He takes the moment to press a trail of kisses along the inside of your thigh before sliding his tongue against your opening, moving slow and teasing at first, amused by your frustrated wiggling, before his tongue moved deeper, moved faster, and you threaded your fingers through his hair, gasping and whimpering as he ate you out. 

When he moved back, you gently scraped your nails across his scalp in a wordless thanks, but it seemed he had other plans, his hand coming up to press two fingers into you, fucking you at a teasingly gentle rate, before he began curling them inside of you as they moved, both fingers curling at different times but in a distinct rhythm that hit all the right notes. Moving back down, he flicked his tongue across your clit, before sucking it, intensifying the sensation that began to overwhelm you, and as he began to speed up, it felt like there was a coil tightening in your core that was ready to snap. As you felt your orgasm building, you worked to keep yourself quiet, moans catching in your throat, wrapping one leg around to press your heel in his back to get him a little closer, when words failed.

You come with a strangled cry, his fingers deep inside of you, his tongue on your clit. Your grip on him tightened, whole body going tense, before ease washed through all your muscles, endorphins flooding your veins. When you come down, his cheek is resting against your thigh as he grins up at you, smug and proud, fingers still moving gently within you, riding out the aftershocks of your orgasm with you.

“You’ve done that before.” You smile at him, flushed and a little out of breath, and his smile somehow becomes even more smug. 

“Once or twice.” He pulls his fingers from you and an involuntary whimper escapes from you at how you suddenly feel empty, which makes him laugh. “Don’t worry, I’ve got something for that.” He assured, standing up and gently pulling you off the counter. Your legs were still a little shaky as you stood, but you didn’t worry as you leaned against the counter, Roger leaning in to kiss you. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and feel his cock against your thigh, and you’re so wet you’re practically dripping.

Hand moving down, you brush the thin material of the skirt out of the way, feeling him straining against the fabric of his tights and underwear. 

“You need a minute?” He asked, his hand on yours, slowing you down, and you took a moment to assess yourself, the shake in your legs which was getting better already, the warm, heady feeling which was still lingering, and you shook your head, smiling back at him. “Good.” He moved your hand away, kissing you intensely before pulling his tights and underwear down to his knees, his cock now pressing flush against your thigh as his hand moves beneath your shirt and bra, gently cupping your boob. His other hand found it’s way to your thigh, gently spreading your legs, moving to position himself at your entrance.

He slides into you easily, you’re still so wet from your orgasm, and his fingers pinch at your nipple at the same time that he buries himself fully into you. Just the feeling of fullness has you moaning, digging your nails into his back. Rolling your hips experimentally, he has to muffle a groan against your neck, and soon you’re moving together, whimpers and moans escaping you every time your hips meet and you can feel him hit deep inside of you. 

Unsurprisingly, he has excellent rhythm, speeding up until he’s fucking you hard and fast against the bathroom counter, sucking a hickey into your shoulder to keep himself quiet, your hands in his hair, biting your lip to keep from calling out. His breath stutters against your neck where he’s so focused, before he pulls out of you, giving you little time to complain before he’s turning and bending your over the counter and sliding back into you, his hands on your hips as you muffle moans against your arm, pretty sure you’re leaving teeth marks in your own flesh. You know you’re not going to finish this time, but you don’t even mind, still riding the high from your earlier orgasm as he pounds into you. 

He pulls out just before he finishes with a choked moan, letting his cum hit your ass and the back of your thighs. Letting you catch your breath, you hear him dampen a paper towel, coming back to clean you up somewhat as you stand, still bent over the counter, legs spread.

“Thank you.” You murmur, finally standing and stretching out your now sore back muscles. When you turn to look for where he’s thrown your panties, he’s smirking at you, having fixed his outfit already, looking perfectly fine, if not for his puffy lips and obvious bedhead.

“No worries.” He holds out your panties, and you flush, pulling them back on. “Will you be working tomorrow?” He asked as you turned your jeans back from outside in. When you tell him you will be, he hums noncommittally. It’s your turn, however, to smirk at him.

“Maybe I can return the favour.”


	4. ease my mind. {Mary Austin}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @bucky-barnes-is-a-gift asked: lol yesssss you write for Mary (I’m so desperate wtf) can you just do one where they’re both watching the boys record and album (they’re sat in those wheelie chairs or something) and when the guys are distracted, Mary slips under the desk and eats the reader out until she cums rlly loudly and the boys are all like ‘omfg dude what’ thank you 🙏

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: angrylizardjacket
> 
> This one’s for me, I deserve it. Smut.

“Sweetheart, you seem tense.” Mary’s voice is perfectly innocent when she sits herself in the chair beside yours at the recording desk. She’s not  _wrong_ persay; you’re the sound engineer Queen had hired to help them record their latest album, which was made only slightly easier since you’d worked with them before on their past two albums, and had started dating Mary after the last album.

“If these guys could actually agree on a harmony  _maybe_ we could get some work done tonight.” It’s almost three in the morning and you’re all but tearing your hair out at the sound of four slightly different notes being sung together over and over again. 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” There’s a playful smirk on her lips when you turn to face her, and she reaches out, gently ghosting her fingertips along the bare skin of your arm.

“ _Babe_ …” Your voice drops low, just edging on a warning as your eyes flick to the band on the other side of the glass where they were in a very heated argument, with Roger and Brian both playing the same guitar pointedly at Freddie.

“I don’t think they’ll notice, do you?” She said quietly, raising an eyebrow at you. After a beat, you both hear Freddie yell ‘ _are you kidding me’,_ and you watch him storm over to the keyboard, and then Mary’s hand is on your thigh. “They seem rather occupied.” And she leans in, pressing her lips to yours as her fingers move higher, and you thank yourself on your foresight to wear a skirt.

“ _Excuse me, ladies, we’re trying to record an album here!_ ” Freddie’s voice comes booming over the speakers and you break apart, Mary turning red, though her hand’s still on your thigh beneath the sound desk, and you look up to see the rest of the band looking at you two, Freddie leaning in close to the mic by the piano, Roger smirking, and John and Brian just looking both amused and exasperated.

“Well have you decided on a harmony?” You pressed the button for the microphone, trying not to let your embarrassment show on your face.

“ _You’re such a spoil sport, Freds._ ” You hear Roger mutter, and saw Mary roll her eyes at out of the corner of your eye. Freddie, however, looked a little put out as he looked down at the piano.

“ _It’s the_ principle  _of the thing_.” He said, and you cast a glance at Mary before looking back at the boys, pressing down the microphone again.

“For the record, while I like what you were all doing, do you really think it fits with the tone of the song? Maybe it needs to move up or down an octave; play around with it a bit more.” You suggested, shooting for innocent, leaning back in your chair with a satisfied little smile as you watch the chaos unravel.

“ _Ha! See, she likes what_ we  _were doing!_ ” Roger cries, gesturing between himself and Brian, triumphant as he turns to the singer, but Freddie is already up in arms, both his hands on the piano, lifting a foot to play as well, clomping the keys pointedly, while John just frowned down at his bass, strumming out a few experimental notes, and Brian looks like he’s quickly forming a headache.

“That should keep them busy for at least fifteen minutes.” You mused, amused gaze turning to Mary, who was biting her lip, expression fond.

“I suppose I’ll have to be less noticeable then.” She said, eyes twinkling with humour as she gave you a gentle squeeze. Casting a quick gaze to the arguing band, she slides gracefully from her seat beside you, to beneath the sound desk. 

“We don’t have long, they might actually start working together.” You warned, and from between your legs, Mary grinned at you, pressing a gentle kiss to your inner thigh.

“Have I ever needed long?” And the way her voice dip, sultry and playful, has you already squirming before she even touches you. You’re heart’s already racing as you move to sit at the edge of your seat, legs spreading easily for your girlfriend, and you try to school your expression into something neutral to not give yourself away. 

She presses kisses along the inside of your thighs, gently biting every so often before pressing a kiss to your pussy through your already damp panties. You stiffen a little at that, and she giggles.

“Careful, darling, wouldn’t want to distract them from their album.” She murmurs, her hands sliding up along your thighs, beneath your skirt, pulling your underwear down as she speaks. 

“It’s the  _principle_ of the thing.” You mutter your best Freddie impression from behind your steepled fingers, where you’d pressed them to your mouth in an attempt to quieten yourself. Mary laughs again, which makes you grin, but then she’s licking long, rough strokes along your slit, and your own laugh morphs into a quiet moan. 

She’s so delicate when her thumb finds your clit, teasingly light touches as her tongue dips inside of you. You’re squirming against her, hips rolling as you try to find any sort of friction, but then she’s pressing hard against your clit at she rubs it, and your eyes widen. You cover your choked moan with a cough, and she pulls back, still rubbing at your clit.

“Does that feel good, sweetheart?” She asks, and her other hand moves from your thigh to slide a finger into you as you give a jerky head-nod, trying to keep your gaze on the recording studio.

She starts slowly, finger curling gently inside of you, thumb against your clit, before she pinches it firmly as her finger hits your g-spot and you let out a squeak; you can feel her grin where she’s pressing a kiss to your thigh. Sliding a second finger into you, she moves them faster, alternating between pumping into you and curling them, as she moves to take your clit in between her teeth, flicking the bundle of nerves with her tongue.

You have to hide your face in your hands because you’re worried that one of the boys will see the way curses are falling from your lips, and your pupils are blown wide. You’re whimpering, hips rolling in rhythm with her fingers, and it’s only the sound of the arguing band members that lets you know they haven’t caught on yet.

She’s got a hand on the small of your back, urging you closer to her, and you move obligingly, legs spreading further as sucks hard on your clit, her fingers moving fast and hard in you, hitting you  _perfectly_. She can tell you’re getting close, and she replaces her fingers with her tongue, lapping at you, desperate to get you off as her fingers, slick with your own juices, rub at your clit.

Moaning her name, your head lands on the sound desk with a thud as one of your hands fists in her hair, as you grind against her mouth, whimpering and needy. Mary moans against your pussy as you come, and you can barely muffle your cry with one hand, eyes squeezed closed as the endorphins flood through you. Her lips are still on you, helping you ride it out, as your eyes flutter open and you come back to reality, seeing the band members all crowded around the piano, nodding seriously, thankfully not looking at you.

“ _Alright, I think we’re ready to give it a shot_.” Freddie’s voice comes over the speakers and it takes you a few moment to find your voice, slumped back in your chair with your heart still racing. 

“I- sure.” You say, a little breathless, and that’s when they all turn to you.

“ _You okay?”_ Freddie asks, frowning, and you swallow thickly, trying to get into a more reasonable sitting position as Mary leaned back, smug, gliding your panties back up your legs.

“Yeah, just- uh, bored.” You said, swallowing thickly, wondering if they could tell how flustered you were.

“ _Where’d Mary go?”_ Brian asks, and you glance below the desk to see Mary grinning with amusement at you as she licked her fingers clean.

“She’s somewhere, I don’t know.” You tell them over the microphone, and John, Freddie, and Brian all look a little concerned, but you make direct eye contact with Roger and he gives you the biggest shit eating grin.

As soon as they start the next take, you let out a long sigh of relief, and you lean your forehead against the edge of the table, giving Mary a smile where she was looking at you with raised eyebrows.

“Feel better?” She asked, and you laughed a little, voice low and satisfied.

“So much better; I love you.” And when you say it, she pets your knee fondly, before leaning up and giving you a quick kiss. She takes a moment to try and flatten her hair a little, and wipe the edge of her mouth, and she resurfaces, plopping easily back into the seat beside you, looking nothing so much like the cat who got the cream. She reaches out, taking your hand.

“I love you too.”


	5. double shot {John Deacon}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon asked: Okay so I absolutely love your writing, AMD I’m an absolute thot, so I was wondering if you could potentially wrote something where the reading is a friends of the band, and one night when they’re out at a party together the reader gets a confidence boost and tries to get a little “Freaky with Deacy”….if you catch my drift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m hot for 1981 Montreal!Deaky, but what’s new. Pretend he’s single and that Roger’s green hair makes sense in the timeline. SMUT!! Unprotected sex and drunk sex. (also ignore the weak ending, no that’s no inuendo, i mean of the fic, but it’s 7am and i’ve been writing all night i just want this done).

“You look like an idiot.” You’re not even looking at Roger when you say it, eyes fixed firmly on the dance floor as you stirred the ice in your mostly empty glass.

“I think I look rather dashing.” Roger, ever the relentless narcissist, and unfortunately one of your closest friends, is also only paying you about fifty percent attention where he’s got his eye on some girl by the bar.

“Your hair’s green.” You try to flick your little, cardboard straw at him, but it misses, and snaps him from his own distraction to notice yours, after it lands on his shoulder.

“Well not  _on purpose_.” Running his hands through his hair a little self consciously, he finally follows your gaze to one dancing bass player in the crowd, “you ever going to stop making mooney-eyes and just go and shag him?”

“Excuse you, Roger!” You splutter, finally tearing your gaze away from John to level a glare at former blonde beside you, embarrassment heating your cheeks. His smile sharpened at your obvious flusteredness, and he finishes his drink with far more confidence than he should rightly have in his cosmetic state. 

“You think I spend all day staring at a wall, blatantly ignoring the way you eye-fuck him from side of stage?” Putting his glass down with a thump, Roger’s grin turns amused as his gaze slides to catch glimpses of John bopping his way over to the bar through the crowd. “Not that he’s any better.”

“What about you?” Despite how pleased his words made you, you were quick to turn the conversation around. “You going to make a move on whoever your poor target for tonight is?”

“You make me sound like I’m hunting these poor women,” he huffed, clearly indignant, “and anyway, it’s a totally different situation, it’s not like I’ve been pining over Stephanie for months.”

“You haven’t even talked to her, how do you know her name?” Glancing over at the woman by the bar, she keeps glancing over at the two of you, well, at Roger, and her drink is getting dangerously low; you know he’s getting close to making his move. 

“I don’t, but she looks like a Stephanie,” he paused, his smile sliding to a smirk as he winks at the girl by the bar. You don’t look over to catch her reaction, but judging by the glint in Roger’s eye, it was a good one, “maybe a Michelle.” 

“Also, it hasn’t been  _months,_ and it hasn’t been  _pining_ , I just…” And if your voice slipped into a little bit of a whine as you found yourself watching John by the bar, Roger, for once in his life, was kind enough not to comment on it.

“You just want to shag Alcatraz, I know.” Roger gave you a cheeky smile, which you scowled at. “Sorry, love, forgot you were hot for the short-haired look.” He snorted, though you didn’t deny it. “Listen, just put all of us out of our misery and,” he pauses for a minute, brow creasing as he stood from his chair, “I don’t know, something about basses and fucking, you get the idea.” 

“You have such a way with words,” you grimace, sarcasm heavy in your voice, “at least get me a drink while you’re over there.” He rolls his eyes at your request, but agrees easily. “Make it two!” You call as an afterthought. 

Of course part of you assumes that you’re never getting those drinks; the moment Roger’s within five feet of that woman at the bar, he’ll forget your very existence until he wakes up the next morning, and he’ll have zero regrets, at least regarding you. Not that you begrudge him for that, you knew him too well to expect anything else. 

The music from the jukebox is playing loud enough over the sea of people that you can feel the beat in your bones, and as your earlier drink starts to set in, you let yourself sway in your seat to the music, contemplating getting a drink for yourself, though it turns out you don’t need to.

“I was told to deliver these to you.” Deaky’s grinning, carefully placing two drinks onto the table in front of you, keeping a third in his own hands. Your pleasant surprise at the sight of him turns to exasperation as you look to the bar and see Roger giving you a jaunty wave and a shiteating grin. 

“Of course you were.” Your smile returns to John, and you pat the vacant seat beside you. “Come on, if you go back out there, you’ll end up spilling it all over yourself.” John flushes at that, casting a gaze at the crowd on the dance floor, before he looks back to you, his smile widening as he settled in beside you.

It had only been a few years since you’d joined the bands tour crew as an assistant stylist, though they liked to affectionately refer to you as their professional groupie. You took the nickname in stride, however, after all, the only things the main stylist ever gave you for them was a hairbrush and eyeliner, and you trusted the band well enough to brush their own hair.

Tours are messy and too close for comfort, you quickly learned, and after a few weeks of awkwardly leaning over them and pretending like they hadn’t been passed out and hungover more times than you can keep track of, you take your one job in stride and asked Freddie if you could just sit in his lap to put on his eyeliner and save you all some embarrassment.

“Of course, darling, I don’t bite,” There was a twinkle in his eye, “at least, not during business hours.” He finishes, but ultimately, he was mostly respectful, as they all were, Roger notwithstanding until after you kicked him in the shins and threatened to aim higher next time.

“I like your perfume.” John had always been very quiet whenever you were with him, so it came as a surprise when, halfway through applying his eyeliner, he pays you an unexpected compliment.

“Thank you,” you’re a little flustered, a little uncertain, you’d watched him perform for almost a month at this point and you’d developed maybe the teeniest crush on him, “I like your music.” Mentally you’re berating yourself, you actually have to take a moment to pause and frown over your own choice of words. He takes it in stride easily enough.

“I would hope so,” he starts, tone deceptively mild as his eyes flutter open to gauge your reaction, “otherwise this must be some form of cruel and unusual punishment.” And that’s enough to startle a laugh from you, the sound bringing a smile to his own lips as you lean back for a moment, and you feel his light tough on your waist where he’s steadying you.

As the months and tours and music videos go by, he quickly becomes your favourite ( _he’d always been your favourite, you were just less likely to admit it before_ ) and he, much to your surprise, quickly begins to favour you too. Conversation comes easily, though he seems to prefer to talk when you’re applying his eyeliner, voice quiet, his hands resting on your thighs where you’ve got a leg either side of him where he’s sitting. Every so often when you’re buzzing about the space after you’re finished with him, he’ll shoot you a smile, or if you make a joke, more often than not you’ll hear his quiet laughter.

The fact that every time you watch him perform or even just dance, you wanted to bang him -  _how did that song go again? Oh right_  -  _all day long,_ that had just become an undercurrent of your life that you tried to ignore. He was your friend and you technically worked for him and-  _god damn it_ , it got harder and harder to keep coming up with excused not to make a move on him, especially when the others were so pointedly trying to get you together. 

So maybe tonight, thanks to the drinks Roger bought you ( _double shot, the both of them, that cheeky bastard_ ), and Deaky looking particularly good in that all blue outfit, was the night you finally made a move on the bopping bassist of Queen. Or, you consider as he’s got his hand around your wrist, tugging gently you towards the dance floor as you quickly finish your drink a while later, he might make a move on you. Actually, you don’t mind the sound of that.

The world turns blurry at the edges, a kaleidoscope of lights bouncing off the walls and dancers. Sometimes he’s holding you, by the hand, by the waist, always moving to the beat, always so careful, sometimes he’s twirling you and for one heart-stopping moment you feel like you’re flying, and distantly you know that what goes up must come down, but he catches you before you spin out too far, having never left solid ground to begin with. He doesn’t let you fall.

“I’ve got you.” He assures, hand on the small of your back. He’s so close, practically nose to nose, his smile so familiar yet surprisingly cheeky, though part of you suspects it’s due to the drinks, at least in part. So is the courage you gain for your next move, though.

You kiss him, in the middle of the dance floor, crushing your lips against his as you pull him in by his collar. When his grip on you tightens just a little and he kisses you back, you feel relief flood through you that you hadn’t realised you’d been waiting for. When he pulls back, he’s full on beaming at you. There’s a pause, a hesitation, an uncertainty, like maybe he wants to kiss you again, or pull you back to the dance floor, but then someone stumbles into you, almost spilling their on you, and Deaky pulls you back in time.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” You ask, as someone knocks into him from the dance floor, and it’s as if you suddenly remember how stuffy and crowded it is.

“I’d love to.” He agrees. 

The taxi ride back to the hotel is giggly and sloppy, at one point he presses a kiss to your nose, and it sends you into a fit of giggles, which only serves to make him grin brighter.

“Was that not the right spot?” He asked, bright and faux innocent, and you’re trying to quell your laughter as he takes your face in his hands and plants a kiss on your forehead. You actually snort at that. “Warmer?” He asked with a grin, still holding your face. After a moment, he squishes your cheeks together and bursts out laughing. Once he drops his hands, you grin.

“No, I think-” and you cut yourself off by pressing your lips to his temple, before pulling back a little and humming, before going back in and pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. His laughter dies down and he catches your face as you go to lean back, instead pulling you in for a proper, passionate kiss. He hums, pleased against your lips, pulling you practically into his lap in the back of the taxi, and you feel your body already humming with anticipation. In this moment, you’ve never wanted anything more than him.

With him it’s not rushed, but it’s passionate, and fun above all else. You’re both still tipsy; he’s grinning and humming something familiar as you help pull his shirt over his head, letting himself fall backwards onto the bed when he hits the edge of it, beckoning you to him. You straddle him where he’s laying back, and he takes his time to admire you,hands sliding beneath the fabric of your shirt, to ghost over your stomach and land at your hips. Leaning in, you press a kiss to his lips, your hands coming to meet his as you teasingly lick at his bottom lip before sitting back up and impatiently pull your own shirt over your head.

There’s that admiring look again, but something about it fills you with warmth, the look in his eyes like he’s blessed to see such a sight. His hands come up to rest at your waist, moving to the small of your back so he can guide you to him for another kiss. This time he wastes no time, and unclasps your bra with surprising ease, helping you out of it without breaking the kiss as it becomes more desperate. Your bare chest against his, the giddy teasing fades in to want, as one of his hands finds your hip, encouraging you wordlessly as you begin to grind against him. His other hand grazes up your side, nails scraping gently against your sensitive skin, eliciting a gasp, back arching at the touch. With you hovering above him, the hand at your side comes to cup one of your boobs, squeezing for a moment before he kisses the gentle swell of it, his lips trailing down until he’s sitting upright and pressing a kiss to your sternum. 

Looking back up at you, his pupils are blown wide, and he kisses you with a ferocity you hadn’t anticipated. His mouth is hot when he presses kisses to the column of your throat, his hands on your thighs where you’ve got your legs wrapped around him, shifting and grinding in his lap, desperate for some sort of friction, or for the both of you to be wearing less pants.

“Pants.” You finally gasp out, scrambling from his lap and unbuckling your own jeans in a desperate hurry. “Pants off.” You clarify to his confusion.

“Good call.” He agrees, and he’s beaming again, as if he his heart isn’t racing and the sight of you, so desperate to get undressed and fuck him, doesn’t making him unbearably hard. You can’t help but be a little flustered by his smile, among other things. By the time you’ve gotten your pants and panties off, he’s got his jeans mostly off, he’s just struggling with one leg.

“You need help?” You ask, and he looks up, as if finally seeing you, and he actually blushes.

“A little.” He admits, and you tug off the jeans with ease. Standing over him with a triumphant smile, he looks you over like he’s trying to savour the moment; no-one’s ever looked at you quite like that before, like they were simultaneously in awe of and hungry for you. “Where were we?” He asks, voice low and surprisingly rough as you waste no time sitting in his lap. 

“Right- here-” you punctuate each word with a hard kiss, reaching down between the two of you to where his cock was standing hard against his stomach. Gently you begin to pump your hand up and down the shaft of his cock, listening to him gasp and groan as he pressed kisses along your neck. You swipe your thumb over the head where it’s already leaking precum, and you shift as you too are already wet with anticipation and need.

“God, I want to fuck you,” your own voice comes out a low moan, and the moment the words leave your mouth, his hand takes yours, and you still. He’s looking at you now, and more than anything he  _wants_ you.

“Please.” 

Gently, with his hands on your hips as a guide, you kneel on the bed, straddling him, and you lower yourself onto him. His cock slides in with ease, you’re practically dripping, and you let out a long, low moan, and he hums in response, smiling at the sight of you, your eyes closed and mouth open in quiet pleasure. 

“God, you’re gorgeous.” He murmurs, admiring you as your pussy flutters around his cock buried deep inside of you. You stay like that for a long moment, just getting used to the feel of him inside you, but the moment he shifts, just a little, experimentally, your eyes flicker open and your lips stretch into a smirk as you look at him through your lashes. Slowly at first, you begin to grind, your hips rolling to meet his; he’s got a hand on your lower back to keep you steady, and the other is at your tits, tugging at one of your nipples as he sucks the other into his mouth. At that you whimper, arching your back as he bites gently, tugs a little harder, and the rhythm of your hips stutters against him for just a moment. 

You lift his chin with one hand, his lips meeting yours in a messy, desperate kiss as you moan into his mouth, still rocking against him. It’s not enough, so with gentle hands you press against his chest guiding him to lay down on the bed trailing kisses down his neck and chest as you ride him. He’s got a firm grip on your ass, and when his hips snap up to meet yours you audibly gasp.

“Incredible,” he murmurs, and he leans up, pulling you in to meet him half way as you’re fucking him, “you’re incredible.” And your breathy panting turns to moans against his lips when he’s got one hand between the two of you, thumb on your clit. He’s almost teasingly gentle, and your frantic rhythm slows down a little to accommodate the new stimulation, and as rubs the sensitive nerves more firmly, curses come tumbling from your lips. This just seems to encourage him to move more insistently, and he shifts his hips to an angle to fuck you just a bit deeper and you actually cry out.

“Fuck- fu- plea- please fuck me.” You whimper, breathless and needy. He’s happy to oblige. When you climb off of him, you’re quick to replace his cock with your fingers as you lay back against the bed, need curling low and hot within you, and he watches for just a moment with a smirk.

“How long have you wanted this, darling?” He asks, already moving himself between your legs, which split easily for him. 

“So long, so  _so_ long.” You admit, groaning as he takes your hand away and slides easily back into you. For just a moment he’s still, buried to the hilt inside of you, then he starts thrusting, teasingly slow at first.

“Good.” He murmurs, and though your eyes are closed, you can hear the smirk in his voice. He’s still holding your hand, and after a beat, he tugs at your wrist, pulling your hand to him, and your eyes flutter open to see him suck your slick digits clean.

“Oh  _god_ , oh  _fuck,”_ you moan, rolling your hips to meet his as your head falls back against the pillows, the image of him looking at you with nothing but want in his eyes as he sucks your own juice off your fingers now burned into your memory for you to get off to in your own time. He’s still holding your hand, fingers laced with yours as he presses it against the bed. Your legs come up to wrap around him as you feel yourself getting close, and you reach down with your free hand to toy with your clit.

Your panting turns to whimpers turn to crying out his name as you come, wrapped up in him and the feeling of ecstasy that washes through you, with him still deep inside of you. He fucks you through the aftershocks of your orgasm, and as you’re coming down, he bites back a long groan as he pulls out of you, his cum hitting your stomach and tits. He lets out a long, pleased sigh, collapsing beside you. There’s tissues on the bedside table which you clean yourself up with well enough, and as you’re turned away, throwing the tissues out, John presses a kiss between your shoulder blades. 

He’s smiling when you roll over to face him, and kisses you back tenderly when you lean in. 

“We should do this again some time.” You say with a half-smile, and he lays back against the bed, looking at you out of the corner of his eye.

“I think that can be arranged.”


	6. integrity. {Gwilym Lee}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One night stand with Gwil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because it’s rude to call a fic ‘i want to blow gwilym lee’ but that’s sort of just where we’re at. anyways i love you all, this wasn’t prompted but i saw this image and i have not known peace since. SMUT WARNING: oral (male receiving), a little bit of dom!reader but it’s pretty tame, im tired and i want the beautiful tall welsh man.

The first time Gwil takes you home, you’re worried about your journalistic integrity for about three minutes as you take a moment to look around his foyer before he shuts the door and presses you against it. His hands are steady and perfectly gentlemanly on your sides, but he’s kissing you almost desperately, pressed flush against you and you can feel him already hard through those fucking beige slacks.

It’s not like you’re review’s going to be tainted if you fuck him, and he’s made it clear that he hasn’t got any hidden agenda; it’s just a simple night of fun, on that you both agree. Grinning against his lips, your fingers dancing down his sides before coming to rest at the hem of his shirt. For just a moment he pulls back, his smile only inches from yours as he reaches one hand up to cup your jaw. He’s waiting for you to make the next move, and you oblige easily, your smile turning sharp as you move around him, until he’s pressed against the wall and you’re pressed against him, your lips on his as you hook your fingers in the waistband of his slacks.

“Eager,” he teases, though his pupils are blown wide as he looks at you, holding your face close to his with both hands. Instead of an answer, you press a quick, rough kiss to the corner of his mouth and sink to your knees. “ _Christ_ , really eager,” he huffs with a low chuckle as you pull down his pants and boxers enough to free his cock where it had been straining almost painfully against the fabric. 

“Everything alright?” You ask, sitting back on your heels for a moment, looking up at him through your lashes, one hand resting tentatively on his thigh as you watch him take himself in hand. He leans his head back against the door, already breathing heavily.

“Everything’s  _fantastic_ , how about you?” He asked, his smile widening as you sit back up, hand sliding up his thigh to take over from him, fingers gently wrapping around his cock. You hum approvingly, biting your lip as you watch yourself jerk him off. You try to pace yourself, to not get ahead of yourself, but being here with him is like a fantasy, his hand is resting gently on the top of your head. He’s so patient, trying to savour the moment, but you can’t help yourself, licking at the head of his cock where he’s dribbling precum, and he lets out a quiet, appreciative moan as his nails graze your scalp. 

It’s all the encouragement you need to wrap your lips around his cock. You bob your head up and down, taking as much of him into your mouth as you can, but you known there’s no way you’re going to be able to take all of him without gagging. He’s  _incredibly_ well proportioned for his height, and your mind flashes to thinking about how fucking good it’s going to feel with your pussy stretched around him when you’re fucking him and you can  _feel_ yourself getting wetter by the moment. 

You hum when the head of his cock hits the back of your throat and he actually swears under his breath, bucking his hips when the hand that had been rubbing at what didn’t fit in your mouth moves to gently squeeze at his balls. You move your mouth off of him, your free hand coming to rub along his shaft as he rolls his hips against your hands. Alternating between licking and pressing kisses along his shaft until you reach the head, and you pause for a moment, waiting until his eyes finally open to meet yours, before you place the head of his cock on your tongue before taking him as far into your mouth as you can manage. 

He knows he won’t last much longer with you looking at him like that, and he wants this to last as long as possible, so he beckons you up, kissing you roughly, passionately as he struggles the rest of the way out of his pants.

“How are you still fully clothed?” He asks with a breathless laugh as he makes quick work of your jacket and button down. After a beat, he pauses to admire the sight of you in your bra and jeans before he seems to realise where you were. Taking your hand, he kisses you quick, before leading you into the bedroom. 

He helps you out of your jeans, trailing kisses down your thighs that had you squirming, but in turn you’re pulling off his shirt, fingers ghosting reverentially across his shoulders before you place a kiss on the juncture just beneath his ear. 

It’s his turn to be eager, his hands dropping to rest on your thighs as he kisses you, gentler this time. As he walks you back to the edge of the bed, his fingers ghost up to hook his thumbs in the waistband of your panties. As your knees hit the edge of the bed he sinks to his knees, presses a kiss to the point where your left thigh meets your hip. You know he wants to pay you back for sucking him off in the foyer, but you’re impatient.  _Mostly_ impatient. You stand your ground, lifting his chin up with a lust-darkened gaze, his own expression mirrors yours, but he waits patiently for what you have to say, one hand on your ass, the other on your hip.

“Later,” you say firmly, and he quirks an eyebrow at you, giving your ass a squeeze.

“Later?” He asks gently, and you step so you’re flush against him, thankful that he doesn’t back down, his cock pressed against your belly.

“Right now I just want to fuck you.” You tell him, and he actually smirks at that, stepping away for a moment.

“You drive a hard bargain.” He teases, and heads to his bedside drawer where you take a seat on the edge of the bed, after a moment you hesitate. 

“You don’t have any lube, do you?” You ask, feeling a little flustered despite the situation, but he doesn’t make a big deal out of it, just passes you a tube as he slides on a condom. “Not that-  _fuck_ , not that this isn’t one of the hottest things that has happened to me in a while, but-”

“But a little help is always good,” he agreed with a surprisingly cocky grin, moving easily to sit on the bed when you directed him. It’s clear that this isn’t the first time that it’s happened, and though he tries not to act like it, he’s well aware of how  _impressive_ he is. You don’t care, he’s leaning back against the headboard, watching as you dribble the lube onto his cock with an almost comical amount of focus. When you’re done, he take the tube and tosses it onto the ground to be worried about later, beckoning you down for a kiss. When you do, it’s slow and deliberate as you reach between the two of you to grasp his cock, your hips moving to position him at your entrance.

“God, you feel  _wonderful_ ,” he murmurs as you gently sink down onto him. It’s slow going, and his grip is tight on your hips as you whimper and pant against his neck, his cock stretching your slick pussy. You’re cursing quietly, taking a moment to get used to him before you take more of him, and he presses a kiss to your jaw, muttering quiet praise, that is perhaps a little patronising, but it’s exactly what you need to hear. 

When he’s buried in you all the way, you let out a long, low moan, laughing when he moves one of his hands to hold your face gently, that laugh turning to a groan as she shifts his hips tentatively against yours. When you begin to roll your hips, both of you are lost for a moment, his eyes falling closed as he rocks his hips in time with yours.

“Fuck,  _yes-”_ you choke out as you sit upright, hands braced on his chest, and even this has shifted the angle of his cock inside of you and you need to feel him hit  _right there_ like your life depended on it. You starts by rolling your hips, grinding against him with your head thrown back, whimpering and moaning at  _how fucking good_ it felt to have him so deep inside of you. 

He’s watching you through half lidded eyes, one hand resting gently on your thigh, the other reaching up to palm at you boob, pinching gently at your nipple as you bounce on his cock. You’re both close, he’s been practically on the edge since he almost came with your mouth around him, and you’ve been hot and ready for him all night, but the tipping point comes when he reaches down to rubs at your clit with his thumb, choking back a groan where he watches his cock side in and out of your pussy. 

“Let me fuck you,” he gasps, watching you arch into his touch, nodding and at a loss for words. He doesn’t need any more encouragement, just lays you back against the bed, his cock still in you as you wrap your legs around him. He’s got a hand beneath your hips and the angle at which he’s fucking you has you  _incoherent_. When you start toying with your own clit, your hips are bucking against his, and it’s not long before you’re coming, arching and flush against him, his cock deep inside of you where the feeling of you, tight and hot and cumming around him sends him over the edge and he’s biting your shoulder gently to muffle himself. 

You both stay like that for a long while, hearts racing, breath coming in heavy pants. He’s the first to move, chuckling against your shoulder before he presses a kiss to your collar and he moves to entangle himself. You whimper as he slides out of you, but you just let yourself sink into the soft mattress, your muscles sore but satisfied. You feel thoroughly fucked out, but you still make yourself stand, use the bathroom after he’s cleaned himself up.

“Am I right to take a shower?” You call, and you hear him huff out a laugh before telling you that it’s fine. He declines your offer to join, though he makes a coy promise of ‘ _maybe tomorrow’._

He’s tucked up under the covers, sleepy but satisfied when you come out of the bathroom. He’s surprisingly fond and cuddly when you crawl into bed beside him, and you wouldn’t deny that it wasn’t comforting having his warmth against your back as he wraps an arm around you. It’s not long before you’re both out for the night.

It’s probably just a one night stand, you tell yourself, or at the very most, something casual, but when you wake up and he’s still holding you, when you get up and he follows through with the promise of shower sex, you know there’s far worse ways to spend a night.


End file.
